The end of the world is..nay

Well, its 21st December and I seemingly have survived a 13th end of the world (according to various c*nts), making me a bit of a legend, I believe that in each of these occasions, the world has tried to end, but I am too hard, and have survived, bringing my buddies through hell with me (you cunts) I am the son of Chuck Norris, I probably kicked the green barbed cunt out of an entire alien invasion while pissed last night, no biggie.

The scariest of these various endings was the millennium bug, when, on the stroke of midnight on 31/12/1999 every single facet of our life would come to a sudden fizzing end, revelers, once walking along the streets buzzing on Champagne and good times would have their spirits, and lives, literally crushed out of them by a sudden rain of Boeing 747's literally falling out of the sky like massive aluminum turds smashing anyone to death with still strapped in cadavers and a hail of duty frees. Anyone who was just innocently surfing the 1999 internet looking for a picture of a huge hairy 90's muff (who had the patience to wait 20 minutes while it downloaded) would have their computer suddenly explode in their face like a square glass ejaculating cock, killing them with shards of porn.

Microwave oven owners, on the stroke of midnight, would have their machines unplug themselves and waddle towards their owners like shit R2D2's, slamming their heads into the cooking compartment several times, like Vinnie Jones in the film lock stock and eventually cooking their faces until their eyes popped out of their skulls like spherical pop tarts. Mobile phone owners would go from sending pointless text messages and playing original nokia snake, to having a white hot brick of burning magnesium in their pockets and scream while it burnt through their trousers and into their innards, killing them slowly and painfully, and all while playing the original Nokia Ringtone.

It didn’t happen, nothing happened, a slush puppy machine stopped working in Woking, that was it, the Millennium bug was a massive big fat cock nosed lie.

Nostradamus' stuff passed without incident, some fat nosed velvet hat wearing cunt sat in a room, probably off his tits on Absinth, making millions of predictions like an alcoholic in Thornton Heath Ladbrokes. With the amount of crap he said, he was bound to get a few things right. For example, I am making predictions for the future right now...

Jessie J will die

Blackburn Rovers will never win another trophy ever

In 2088 A giant octopus will emerge from the Thames and finally destroy and put the Woolwich Ferry out of its misery

2027 - Sylvester Stallone will make a Rocky Movie, in which he fights for a world title from inside an cremation urn.

2045 - Louis Walsh will finally end his backward ageing and disappear inside a vagina for 9 months before finally turning into a sperm and flying out into a penis and never existing again, ever.

2014 - Jedward will end all the wars in the world with a frankly heart breaking version of "The Greatest Love of all" set to a catch keyboard style rap beat.

2015 - Jedward both get alopecia and go into hiding

2017 - You will still be pissing and moaning about your job and not bothering to get a new one

2013 - Southern Trains and Yodel, will be the worst companies on the planet earth

2014 - David Cameron is finally put back into the sea where he rejoins his pod of Dolphins from whence he came.

2014 - Every single TV star from the 70's and 80's is convicted of a child sex offence.

2999 - ITV screen a remake of Buck Rogers, but it is set in the past.

Pastors, frightening the wits out of the dumbest of the dumb, the religious cult god fearers who will listen to any old shit to fill the huge void in them with some semblance of hope or belonging, the shit for soul pastor getting them to part with all their money in exchange for avoiding the worst apocalypse of them all, the biblical one, a fate so scary that even film maker Jerry Bruckheimer couldn’t fathom. These dullards gathered around their place of "worship" holding each other, waiting for a Golden Chariot to sweep out of the sky, now penniless and conned to fuck husks watching their watches as the time of Armageddon passes innocently and without event, like every other minute in their empty pathetic lives, and finally, hearing the screech of the Pastors wheels as he flees to Vegas with all their cash to blow the lot of the frankly ungodly vices of drugs and whores. Nothing happened, the only end of the world being that the blinkered fuckwit "believer" now realised that he was an abject fucking idiot, the stupidest of the stupid, even more stupid that people who worship a rock, at least the rock is there, they can see it, its palpable.

Other deadlines came, the planets aligned which was supposed to vapourise the entire solar system, nothing happened, deadlines passed, asteroids never materialised, oceans never boiled, super volcanos didn’t explode the whole of America, everyone just went about their day, paid bills, spend money, drank beer, rubbed themselves off, ate dinner, slept, moaned about their commute, drank beer, checked eBay, nothing happened, no huge chorus of horns, no plague of locusts, no rain of fire, no rapture. It was all a bit shit really, as they usually are.

The large hadron collider was switched on inside a mountain, the resulting particles smashing together was either going to give us the secrets of our creating, or create anti matter which would suck all life on earth off..

The end will come one day, I mean for fuck sake, it’s like a larger version of watching a heroin addict or alcoholic kill themselves, its no big shock really, and that’s humans really, a massive swarm of parasitic heroin addicts, feeding draining self-obsessed stuff junkies, hooked on just accumulating shit, be it stuff from the Argos catalogue, or in the case of megalomaniac leaders, entire countries. If it doesn’t come from our own stupidity, a bunch of cunts in a mountain trying to recreate the big bang (the hint to not do this is in the title you fucking lab coat wearing cocks) it will no doubt come from somebody going "track and field" on the Nuclear button, or us eating ourselves out of existence, or, and more likely, a huge natural disaster.

The low-light of this week is realising just how many mentally unstable people there are on the planet, news of thousands of people flocking to a mountain in France, from which they believed that an alien spaceship would emerge and save them from the global destruction. You buffoons, any Alien here watching humanity is not going to give you a lift, you are an arse scratching monkey with an IPad, what possible good could you do off this earth apart from pollute another planet with your fucking stupidity and thrashing screaming offspring. No, if there were aliens in a mountain they are here to laugh while we desperately think of new ways to destroy ourselves, collectively clueless at any semblance of a long terms plan and still utterly charmed and open jawed befuddled by shiny gadgetry and the flashing lights, colours and sounds of TV and music. An alien craft giving you a lift would be as stupid, if not more stupid, than you, on a family trip to the seaside with your kids and suddenly deciding to give a lift to a rampant and starving baboon. In fact the entire creation of humans is just a protracted bit of footage on an alien version of You've been framed. Don't take humans seriously, we are fucking stupid, the very pinnicle of our being, creating a child can be summed up by the ridiculous faces we pull when we orgasm, fucking ridiculous.

Another low-light was the Sun Newspapers survival guide to the end of the world, penned, no less, by ex SAS soldier Andy McNab, telling you to dig a pit and get sandbags, stock up on corned beef, standard shit. It frightens me to think that people have wasted their time on this, people have lost sleep over this when countries are bending each other over and bully ramming them for their resources, and at any point, the entire human race is just a button push away from a huge toasting death by nuclear fire. You fucking idiots, stop looking outwards for the end, the end is staring at you in the mirror every day, tool.

In some ways, I kind of hoped something did happen, in my own nostalgic way, humans need a collective massive steel toe capped kick up the arse, something to make us realise that our petty squabbles are both needless and pathetic, something bigger than us, a huge event to shake us all to the core and realise that in a moment of abject incalculable terror that ANY human being gives as good a hug, regardless of race, creed, beliefs, orientation etc. and throw away our backward differences and just get cracking on the job of clearing up after the biggest party of all time, human beings. But sadly, nothing happened and we won't, we will carry on, consuming, ignoring, exterminating, and basically, apart from getting the debit card out during comic relief, not actually giving a monkeys ball bag about each other.

Right, now stop worrying and start living you upright monkey fucks.

Geoff and Lorraine - A Romance Part 3 The Lynx Effect

Geoff awoke in a clammy state in his own damp riddled woe-hole of a flat, beige thoughtless decor and restored furniture inherited from when his Nan died (she had caught fire on a Parker Knoll chair after falling asleep while smoking one of those tipless cigarettes, the ones that old people smoke, while wrapped in about 8 of those horrid polyester blankets, the ones that old people wrap themselves up in. It wasn't the fire that killed her, she awoke smouldering, ran and jumped into the bath, forgetting that it was full of Paraffin that she had been storing there to put in her little paraffin heater, the ones that only old people use. Her idea of stock piling it to beat a tuppence price increase backfiring horribly when the entire street blew up. The final death toll was one old lady, and 14 budgerigars, as luck would have it, most people were out playing bingo or, as it was Thursday, were down the club house watching variety acts. Geoff had a memory shudder through his mind, with the erratic jerking manner of a penis entering an unprepared anus at the start of a male on male drunken and forced back alley buggery. Lorraine! He exclaimed (in a monotone that perhaps didn't warrant an exclamation mark).

Last night was a disaster, instead a night of hot permed passion, he had only managed to achieve a 35% erection and managed to shit himself and bleed out of the tip of his penis leaving her shapeless body looking like a pavement with a dropped Strawberry Mivvi ice-cream on it. He shuddered again, this time looking like Michael J Fox after sucking on a half lemon. He reached for his mobile phone and suddenly realised that these had not been invented yet and remembered that his land line had been cut off months back for non payment of a bill. He remembered the call box at the end of his street and began searching around for 10 pences, and Lorraines number. He looked under his bed, which smelt of warm dust and discovered laying limply into the torn under lining of his mattress some standard porn mags, Knave and Mayfair. He felt a twitching "down there" and thought it would be a good idea to see if all was working downstairs and rushed off to his spleen covered bathroom to bang one out.

 Nervously, Geoff worked at his lower region, his hand moving like a Kenco advert speeded up, he cursed his member, which was now fully aroused looking at the wonky tits of Gill from Kent, standing astride a sign saying "Welcome to Gillingham". He didn't need to get over the page (where, if you are interested, Gill was spread over the bonnet of a Ford Escort Si holding her labia apart like one of those Weider chest expanders from Argos, the entire reproductive meat feast looking more like Chewbacca's autopsy than something one would be inclined to stick their willy into).

 Geoff nervously shuddered to orgasm, his penis gripped tightly in his hand looking like a wet wren vomiting up carbonara sauce. No blood, Geoff thought, and threw his hands in the air, inadvertently throwing up some streamers of spunk like a pathetic spider man. It now hung disgustingly on the smoke stained artexed ceiling. Geoff jumped in the shower and gave himself a quick going over (on his priority areas) before gathering up the four ten pieces and set out to call Lorraine.

 Lorraine had woken up in her creepy single womans flat, her hair looking like a raped sea anenomi. She too felt a jolt inside her, which normally, on a saturday morning, would have been her longer than average dildo pile driving its way into her mucky tuppence. The hazy memory last night was confounded by the weird spunk/blood stain on the bed which looked weirdly like the Fila logo.

 She felt embarrassed for herself and Geoff that last night had gone so badly, she too had shat herself a little bit, something she had never done as an adult. She didn't know how she would react to Geoff when he saw him at the factory on the monday, she felt the blame for his erectile blunderment and this added to her already Canary Wharf tower of self doubt. It had taken several glasses of Black Tower and 6 snowballs for her to get the courage to get Geoff back to her flat and it ended in a shitty cum and blood fest, a horror for most, but a standard Friday night for George Michael.

She stared at herself in the mirror and looked down, her glasses started to steam up from the big blobby tears that had now started to fall out of her eyes with in the pathetic manner of a Goth jumping out of a block of flats. Suddenly she was startled by the sound of her phone ringing, nobody rang her at home and she nervously made her way to the handset that looked like a big bone and picked it up and spoke with a meakness that winds men up. "Lorraine, please, we need to talk, about last night..."

 They spoke until his coins run out, which was about 90 minutes because back then BT were alright and not the greedy shark cunts they are today. Somehow, Geoff had managed to convince Lorraine to meet him in the local pub that evening, another chance, and all done while standing in a phone booth that stunk of heavy Super Kestrel addled piss and cigarette smoke. He decided that never again was he going to be put in the position of a "failure to launch" and decided that he would do something he had never done before and get a prostitute in that afternoon and make sure everything worked.

He knew it did work while he was having a having a "sherman", but he needed to make doubly sure and he would get a prostitute for the afternoon, something he had never done before in his life. He got his local newspaper, and in the free ads, just next to the childrens entertainers, which all incidentally had tickle in their titles, which repulsed Geoff. Moving down the list he rang one up who promised something extra special, the title of the advert being "More than a woman" - Thinking of the song he had danced to fondly in many a discotheque he rang the number and spoke to Mandy, he felt instantly at ease with her husky voice and they discussed options.

He gave her his address and she said she would be round by 4pm. He was meeting Lorraine at 8 so he had plenty of time and he waited excitedly for Mandy to turn up. She arrived and he opened the door and shook her huge powerful hand, which reminded him of the time he shook hands with a metal worker after concluding an iron mongery deal. He showed her in and she kicked her size 11 high heels off and coughed deeply. Geoff nervously stuttered his way to negotiating the extra special deal and counted out a pile of ten pound notes.

 They made their way to Geoffs bedroom Mandy exclaimed "Just going for a piss yeah" Geoff nodded sheepishly, naively. She came back brandishing a blindfold and ties for Geoffs hands a feet said that he was going to made special. Geoff looked around and exclaimed that he was not against the idea of being tied up, but didn't have a four poster bed. Mandy said it was not a problem, rolled up a cigarette and ran to the car and came back with a large tool box and expertly drilled some large metal fixtures into the wall and floor near the bed.

Geoff admired her skill with power tools and she ordered him to undress, which he did. She positioned him on all fours on the bed, which Geoff, being a bit of a fucking nana thought nothing of, and started to tie him down, legs and arms, she then blind folded him and put a ball gag in his mouth,and left him there for a bit while she filled in her Littlewoods pools coupon and ate a Yorkie bar...

 Geoff waited nervously, but also a bit excited, he had never done S&M before and couldn't wait for Mandy to make him feel special. Geoff was thinking nervously about his malfunctioning cunt claw. Fortunately for Mandy, getting an erection was never a problem and it stood there at the foot of the bed, zipping up its gimp mask and making an intimidating sight, a bit like Darth Vader standing, having just un-sheathed his light sabre (if it had veins on it). He, knelt behind Geoff and bellowed out, "Are you ready" and applied a large handful of anchor butter to his anus. Geoff let out a shocked yelp, not expecting to be made to feel like a sunday roast. The yelp turned into a yodel when Mandy spat on his impressive cock and jerked it up in one go.

Geoff's muffled screams were blood curdling and he thrashed about like a pig on a washing machine (on its final spin cycle) as Mandy pillared his fundament with the frantic rapidity of a sewing machine. Geoff, finally, worked out that Mandy was in fact a man, and the clues from the advert came together with original Batman logic. His yells were only met with the manner of the man who controls the funfair rides, "scream if you wanna go faster". Geoffs body went limp, save the thrashing from the absolute kung fu cocking he was receiving from behind with experienced aplomb. Life just couldn't get any worse than this, thought Geoff. Just as he thought things couldn't get any worse a twanging feeling inside him and a noise that sounded similar to bubble wrap being popped confirmed the sum of his worse fears, his arsehole had torn. Mandy eventually fired his load, leaving Geoff lying there like a Chicken Kiev.

 Standing up, and feeling like a job well done, Mandy un tethered Geoff and went over to count the money. Geoff only had one option, to forget this had ever happened. Revenge was not an option. Now, in the cold light of day, Mandy was about 6ft 2 and would probably knock the average Geoff clean out. Mandy looked over and complained that the money was a tenner short. Geoff limped over and found another tenner and sent Mandy on his way, declining the offer of a discount for a return match. Geoff checked his watch, it was 5.20pm and he needed to go and get his arse stitched up and he painfully made a trip to A&E. Because of the nature of his injuries he was seen quite quickly.

The Doctor said very little about finding out how Geoff had come to tear his arsehole, but Geoff, with a battered sense of male pride decided to tell him a version of events. "Lynx" said Geoff, pointing sheepishly to his torn arse, "Jumped me" he bumbled on, going on to explain that a wild cat had attacked him and during the melee he had attempted to strangle it with his trousers the beast had got a claw round and severed his exit. The Doctor said nothing, eventually doing a decent job and only requiring 3 stitches.

 It was 7.30 and Geoff was yelping in the back of a cab every time it went over a bump, he was racing to get back to see Lorraine and explain the night before, and hopefully, to not explain why he was walking like John Wayne after a double hip replacement. He went home and put some clean blood and shitless clothes on and walked painfully down to the Hare and Grapes. He limped in and instantly swore under his breath. Gary was in there, sat down and talking to Lorraine who was nervously guarding a glass of black tower and playing with her hair. He knew that Gary fancied her as they had talked about it in the staff room and one of the reasons why Geoff had asked Lorraine out was because he knew Gary was about to pounce. "Pringle jumper wearing cunt" he hissed, inwardly fearing Gary's probably working cock and intact arsehole.

 He shuffled forwards and Gary looked up, "Ay up Geoff", said Gary, "what are ye walking like that for" he chortled, "you look like you've had a cock in yer", he added, almost telepathically. Others in the pub looked around and chortled through handfuls of piss covered communal salted peanuts and large gulps of mild ale from tankards. Rightly or wrongly, Geoff stuck to the story about the Lynx attack. Lorraine looked concerned, "Ya alright Geoff" she said, concerned, in the way that women get, usually without thinking. Meanwhile Gary looked puzzled as Geoff finished his story.

 Going over the facts, Gary, who unbeknownst to Geoff, was on a local pub quiz team and just so happened to know, as you do now, that the last reported sighting of a Lynx in the UK was in the 17th century. Geoff, now rattled went over his story, going into detail about the ferocity of the attack and the guile that he displayed fighting it off. Gary, not even out of politeness, bought into his story and carried on trying to chat Lorraine up. A few people laughed when Geoff walked up to the bar to buy an ale and he turned to watch Lorraine twiddling her noodle like hair and laughing at Gary's jokes.

 A few ales later and Gary was still there, like a stain on a Vicars conscious and Geoff started to become irate, especially as Lorraine was reacting to Gary's jokes and anecdotes from his typically dull and insipid life up North. Geoff could take it no more and he stood up shoving the table and calling Gary a "fucking cunt". Lorraine tried to step in to calm him down and he yelled at her, "stay out of this, you tart", "I fucked her, yep, er, fucked her" nodding his head in an exaggerated manner and pointing at her, for the benefit of anyone in the pub who was deaf, or maybe a bit backward.

Gary stood up and started to give Geoff a lecture in what you can and cant say to a woman. "Oh fook off you four eyed cunt" Geoff swung a wild punch at Gary who moved, sending Geoff to the floor where he promptly heard his stitches tear. Gary didn't respond, he just put an arm around Lorraine who was now crying. Geoff walked ashamed out of the pub, the back of his trousers looking like a target, and the blood coming out of his re-torn bum making a bullseye.

 It wasn't long before Geoff was walking along a single track road near a farm, it was cold and the moon was the only night. Geoff thought back over the last 24 hours, realising that this had been the worst day of his life. Being an unusually positive thinker, for a Northener, Geoff did reflect that at least it couldn't get any worse, even though he did want to kill himself with his belt and a tree. Geoff white hot depressive train of thought was disturbed by a rustling noise from the copse and Geoff realised that he was not alone on the country lane, and he turned and stated "Come on, do your worst" secretly hoping that Lorraine had caught up with him and would forgive and forget. In his whimsical thinking he called out questioning "Lorraine?".

 The copse broke and a largish cat leapt out doing something between a hiss and a roar and instantly attacked Geoff, ripping his shirt, he lashed out at it, yelping as the motion re-re-ripped his poor arse, but caught the beast sending it sprawling off to regroup. It turned around again and made that noise. Geoff had very little time to think about what to do next so he took his belt and trousers off. Making a wild lash at pointy eared fierce creature he missed and it worked its way expertly behind him, taking a wild slash at Geoffs rear and and putting a deep new tear on his arsehole and bolted back into the copse.

Geoff lied there bleeding, his poor rump looking like Freddy Kruger had tried to use him as a glove puppet. He just lay there eventually passing out and wishing that he could to back in time to the point where he had only shit himself, ejaculating blood and got arsefucked by a 6ft plus reproductively well built transsexual and be back in the pub with Lorraine. He awoke the next day in Hospital surrounded by Doctors who were absolutely dumb struck at how a man could possibly be attacked by a lynx twice in the same day, and both around the anal region.

The creature, which had escaped from a local zoo, was eventually capture, shot, and turned into a jacket for Bette Lynch. Geoff lay in the hospital bed, with the worst anal injuries in living memory and his name in the local paper.

 The moral of this part of the story, never cry wolf.... No its not, its just not to ever live up North. The end, for now..